One
by D.L. SchizoAuthoress
Summary: Richard wants just one little kiss from Justin.


Title: One  
Author: SchizoAuthoress schizoauthoress@hotmail.com  
  
Notes: No 'onscreen' sex, little cursing, mostly slash attraction/obsession. J/R, of course.  
  
"One"  
a murder by numbers fanfic by SchizoAuthoress  
  
Just one little kiss. That's all I wanted from him.  
  
I've heard some guys called 'prettyboys' before, but Justin Pendleton is a real prettyboy. He has such a soft-looking, pale, flawless complexion, such dark and enticing blue eyes...and such a beautiful, expressive mouth. The first time I saw him, I went home and had all sorts of fantasies about that gorgeous mouth, with those full, pouty lips...  
  
Shit.  
  
How the hell did he get under my skin like this? I swear to God, I'm not a queer. I'm not even bisexual. It's just...  
  
Nobody has ever made me feel this way before. I've never felt so much like...a part of somebody. Like I have some almost supernatural connection with him. I understand him. Like no one else. I love him.  
  
And no one else does. Nobody could ever love him as much as I do. So why doesn't he see that?  
  
I nearly died when I went into the principal's office and was told that Justin would be my biology tutor. Need I even say that I had all sorts of plans and tactics in place to seduce him? Don't think that I didn't try.   
  
But it's like he has some kind of icy barrier between him and the world. I feel it sometimes, when I can't resist anymore and hold him close to my body, and he leans away, just slightly, just enough to let me know that he wants to escape. And when I try to kiss him, it's like he has a premonition and turns his head just enough so that my lips land on his cheek, or if I'm quick, the very corner of that pretty rosebud mouth.   
  
Once, I was getting impatient that he would let me go on with the plan as it was. This was halfway through the summer between junior and senior year, and we were at the bluff. The night was hot, and I needed some excitement. I would have killed for some excitement. But instead, I settled for trying to get a reaction out of Justin, to hear him argue without all those literary screens. I wanted him angry. I wanted him to scream. I wanted him to be violent, like I always felt he was, beneath the ice and steel of his walls.  
  
I'd been smoking some prime bud from Ray that night, so forgive me if I can't remember the whole incident. But I do remember shoving Justin into a wall and shouting that I should just kill him, or kick the shit out of him, or do something, he pissed me off so much. For a moment, Justin was like he usually is, submissive, meek, struggling for control when I have it all. But then, I swear, I looked into his eyes and I saw something just go. He really did snap then, just like everyone always says someone does when they lose it.  
  
He covered his head with both arms and sank to his knees. He was shaking really, really bad, like he was trying to hold something in that would kill him if it didn't get out. Then he said something that stopped me dead.  
  
"Damn you, you're just like my father, Richard Haywood!"  
  
And I stood there, like one of the deaf kids at school. I didn't know how to answer that. But I didn't have to.  
  
Justin had been flexing his fingers like they were retractable claws in his hands. He stood up suddenly, and he stalked over and grabbed me by the shoulders. He started shaking me and he was yelling, "Dammit, I can't stand it anymore! I can't stand you! Why does everybody always hurt me like this..." and so on. Like I said, I don't remember too clearly what was going down, but eventually, he tired out and we were just staring at each other from across the room with the fire dying out.  
  
He was crying, and the red firelight made it look like his tears were blood.  
  
He turned away from me, but I just couldn't stop staring. He was so beautiful and graceful, even now, when most people would look so weak and ugly and disgusting. It was almost like watching a sleek, lithe black pather stalking in a cage...I had my hand on the lock, and if I made the wrong move--or maybe I should say, the right one--he would be let out.  
  
I crawled toward him; he stayed with his back to me. I cautiously touched his shoulder, and this time, he didn't flinch, he didn't lean away...So I threw caution out the window and embraced him from behind. For once, I did the right thing. He whispered hoarsely, "Richard," like he was about to apologize or something.  
  
"Shh...it's okay. I know--I know that I shouldn't treat you so badly..." I swallowed hard and continued, "Justin, you're my only real friend."  
  
He shifted like he wanted me to let him go, but when I did, he simply turned around and hugged me tight. "You're my *only* friend," he whispered with a kind of tortured innocence.  
  
So I kissed him.  
  
It was short, really too short for my liking, and his lips were cold and salty-wet from his tears. But I didn't want to stop. Justin pushed me backward just a bit and turned his face away. He was blushing almost bright red, biting his lower lip. He didn't say anything, and I couldn't stand the silence.  
  
"Hey...Justin?"  
  
"Richard..." he said in a strange, breathy voice, "Do you think we could have done this sooner?"  
  
Hey, all *I* wanted was a kiss from him. I never said anything about what *he* wanted.  
  
~Finis~ 


End file.
